Almost immediately after this the first gun fired. The Jew flew to the front door, and soon returned accompanied by the great bushy-whiskered negro-hunter, who was much excited. Mrs. Marmor feigned great uneasiness and anxiety for the safety of her husband, and could but shudder under the piercing eye of the old man, while Louie hid behind her chair and peeped out at him with the fascination of fear. Their host seemed to forget the presence of his other guests in his solicitude for Mr. Baker’s comfort. “You not pe vell I see. Dat ish pad. Vat ish te matter?” “I’m excited, and I reckon I’ve taken cold. Give me some whiskey,” replied the hypochondriac. “I’ve sweat too much. The day has been terribly hot!” “Ya. Dat ish goot. Col. Paker tole me shut up mine par; but I not open it to serve you. I shust pring it here, and you trink mit my family. Vill I make shling? oder toddy?” “O sling, sling.” “Alle right. Dat ish goot;” and Dan bustled away to the bar-room and brought a bottle of strong liquor, from which he soon mixed what he called “de ferry pest shling eber made in de country,” and with great show of solicitude presented it to the old man, who gulped it down and smacked his lips with evident satisfaction. In common with all mankind Robert Baker had an impressible point; and, as with every other tyrant, that point was vulnerable to flattery. By a discreet use of this depletive, and a vigorous administration of sling, and industrious cultivation of his hypochondriacal tendency, the Jew soon had him upon his back, and courting a perspiration which should relieve him of numerous imaginary ills. The rapid discharge of firearms upon the street, however, kept the patient nervous and excited; and Dan’s family screamed and exclaimed, and Mrs. Marmor and her boy wept silently as volley followed volley. “Where is my papa?” Louie sobbed into his mother’s ear; for to him “old man Baker” was an ogre, who would devour any little boy he chanced to observe. “Let us pray God to take care of him. He is taking care of _us_. See, little sister is asleep.” “What makes you cry, mamma?” “Oh, just hear the guns? Somebody will get hurt,” and they wept and trembled together, while Lemfield continued to ply his patient with whiskey, till even his eagerness for the fray could not master the oncoming stupor of drunkenness. Two hours or more passed thus, and it was dark, when fearful yells burst out, curdling the blood of every listener. They were like the jubilations of demons, and were soon followed by the booming of cannon. Couriers brought frequent advices of the progress of affairs, which Lemfield carefully received for the old man, and as carefully withheld from every occupant of the house except the refugee in the chamber.